when i reached India, i remember telling the girlfriend my plans of returning to India for good in a year or two, depending completely on her plans, whether she would go study in Europe and return to work in India, or not go at all, or study and work there for a while. and that was how simple it was. fine plans, they seemed at the time, in retrospect, they were completely independent of me. so when the floor slipped out from under, those plans turned into my undoing, or so it seems now.

anyway, the sea of thought that drowns one’s own when one approaches the motherland, coupled with my peculiarly dependent aspirations and the joy of knowing well and being known, drove me to accelerate the timeline of my impending return to a meager 6 months. and then the delay with processing my visa happened. (so that projected timeline currently runs into a couple of months, haha)

to cut this long story short, when i was leaving India about 36 hours ago, delayed by about 3 fortnights, i had traveled to places that i’d never been before, had clearer aspirations for my return, i had been betrayed, i had forgiven, i had fallen quite a few notches, yet found resolution, deeper friendship and maybe even love, elsewhere. i sound a bit self-obsessed, i think a bit like gregory david roberts.

16th feb. and then i woke this morning at first light, and witnessed a fresh snow casually drift to the ground. i went down to touch it and suddenly, after what felt like eons, i felt a complete sense at peace. and that threw me off. and i found myself, as i have been since i first left India, standing at a crossroads. and i was so sure that i was headed back soon. all those questions have popped up again. all leading to one critical decision, what i want from this life. haha, yeah that’s not easy.

if you were to have asked me while i had never left India, i would have scoffed at these thoughts: i AM very confused about where i’m going, i AM fragile. farkin hilarious. what a sobbing mess. farkin mid-life crisis wot.

So when I did walk out, to the joy of my fleecing, conniving autorickshawallah, I forced an expression of disappointment, though, to say the least, I felt a little liberated. In my mind, i was thinking that the entire “india trip” which had so far been hurried and fleeting, now had the possibilkity of becoming complete and fulfilling. So on the way home, I gladly played along with the dramatic game, listening to his raves, rants and preachings, thinking to myself, that I was privileged to be fleeced at least by a countryman.

While he was so transparent in his guile and actually entertaining while he repeatedly try to convince me of his sincerity, I put on a dull opacity that made him feel the need to constantly cheer me up. Dramatically stopping the auto to preach a little, he turned around and told me that I must feed the hungry and poor tonight, in order to appease the forces that be. Then again, this time the sermon being about being good to my parents!! On the way, in the course of his monologue, he talked foul of babus, women, delhi, the embassy, sardars (which people often mistakenly do to me, and ive stopped punishing them for it, lol). So much so that it seemed that he liked no one around him, but, of course, for me.

And so, when, in the final act, he was going full swing in trying to swindle the last 200 rupees from my wallet, I did not feel the urge to stop him, rather, with a sadistic sort of pleasure, I consciously induced him to make more dramatic effort. This he took to heart, and with minimum encouragement, delivered with great gusto a plethora of popular dialog from hindi cinema, in a performance that could have sent the king khan packing. Finally we parted, a grand exchanged between our wallets but spirits equally high, phone numbers exchanged with possibly the luckiest man in delhi this week.

Later, I nonchalantly walked home, changed, and caught the next bus to the nearest den, served myslef numerous rum and cokes and made plans for the weeks to come. By the end of the evening, I had already booked my flight tickets to Udaipur, the first of many excursions that would not have been possible without being delayed.

Sipping languidly from my well-deserved, highly potent long island iced tea, I suddenly feel the urge to write. Now that is rare, judging from the singular entry on this blog, but forced as it may be, I have finally decided to put in some effort.

Things have changed a lot, I hope for the better, and here I am, a year since the first post, sitting in Brookline, sipping my iced tea. I have graduated from A&M, and been branded an Aggie for life. Ugh. I managed to get out of College Station, Texas in March, and land myself a job in Boston.

When I was offered the position in Boston, I jumped at it, solely because, at the time, I desperately wanted to live on the East Coast, though I would’ve settled for anywhere but Texas. So, with the affinity to New York riding high in my mind and “Shipping out to Boston” playing in the background, I happily made my way to Bean Town. 2 months into living in Boston, it became evident to me that Boston appeals to me on many levels that the Big Apple did not. Good move.

the appeal of the Bean

What instantly appealed to me about Boston was that it has history. Home to the Boston Tea Party, amongst several significant historical events and unlike the majority of cities in the US, this city actually has a past.

Boston, colloquially Bauston, the home of the Red Sox, connects with one on a very personal level. The streets are narrow, the people are not so diverse, the connah (read corner) bar is still in place and local legends live on, un-eroded. Though a full grown city and economic hub, the neighboring towns & villages (I live in one..Brookline) help Boston retain its old world charisma.

Even within the city, hidden but not overshadowed by skyscrapers, there are numerous glorious peep holes into the past which have been carefully preserved by the locals, and perhaps, by pure chance. As an estranged architect, the narrow cobbled streets and the seamless coming together of young & old brings strong appeal. Unlike NY, where the old always makes way for the new, in Boston, they sometimes embrace to create a more exciting whole.

weekends

The mood is festive, the locals drink like fish (which is quickly explained by the strong Irish population) and the weekends are sanctimonious. Bostonians love their outdoors, and save the necessary trips to the bah (read bar…get the idea?) people don’t waste much time indoors. Starting Thursday, when happy hours see the heaviest traffic, through till the wee hours of Sunday morning (I exaggerate, maybe, but only a little), people can be seen exercising and working on their tans, or huddled together watching a street entertainer, but mostly walking from one place to another.

Anyway thats my take for today. The iced tea is well-deserved because after weeks spent loathing myself, I finally got my act together and made a day out of today. Yesterday was Saturday.

I feel a little spent, but there are several things I still want to write about. That’s a good sign.

next…

• duck tour
• freedom trail
• weekend in NY?
• about work
• the dreaded winter
• the long wait                                          …